


sic transit gloria mundi

by magnificentmoose



Category: Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sebastian likes to ski for the Aesthetic ™, Skiing, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentmoose/pseuds/magnificentmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Sic transit gloria mundi</em> - glory fades.</p><p>When he recovered, Lady Marchmain said that it was a good idea perhaps for Sebastian to take a trip to the French Alps, citing that a little snow and perhaps a tiny spot of skiing would help him gain full recovery. So it was that I ended up with Sebastian (and Aloysius in tow), on a first class car to the Saint Pierre Resort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sic transit gloria mundi

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation with tumblr user aeternum-contra-mundum about a Brideshead Revisited Holiday Special.

At the closing of that long year, Sebastian and I began to throw off the draperies of summer gods in favor of thick coats of animals skins. We became wilder in that way, covering ourselves in the coming forgetful snow.

The next term was unpleasant and Sebastian came down with a frightening case of pneumonia which landed him in the hospital for a week. I visited him daily, the loose hospital gowns hung about his now bony frame like the skin robes of St. Bartholomew in Milan. Aloysius and a bottle of gin sat ever steadfast by his bedside.

When he recovered, Lady Marchmain said that it was a good idea perhaps for Sebastian to take a trip to the French Alps, citing that a little snow and perhaps a tiny spot of skiing would help him make a full recovery. So it was that I ended up with Sebastian (and Aloysius in tow), on a first class car to the Saint Pierre Resort.

On our second day there, after having taken a look around the small, yet charming ski village, we decided to ski. The last time I had gone skiing had been with my father, only a year before the start of the Great War. I counted myself as being rather decent at the sport and Sebastian declared that he had once won a competition in downhill skiing. Cordelia had confided to me before we left that this was not, in fact, the case and Sebastian merely enjoyed the look and culture of the alpine sport.

This became evident when Sebastian insisted on taking the case Sebastian took a bucket of milk and cream with him up to the highest available peak and proclaimed that he would make an ice cream so rich that the gods would descend from the heights of Mt. Olympus in order to taste it. I declined to mention that we were very far from Greece. Nonetheless, I followed his lead carrying along Aloysius (his constant companion since his stint in the hospital) and several pairs of skis.

Once we reached the apex of our climb, we began the work of churning the ice cream. After an unsuccessful ten minutes which produced a rather sad and tasteless confection, Sebastian declared that he would teach Aloysius how to ski.

“The first bear to ski! Imagine that, Charles." He plucked the toy bear and a pair of skis out of my arms and began to arrange them with considerable thoughtfulness.

"Now let me position Aloysius like so," he said, adjusting the legs of the bear slightly into the straps, the whole contraption wobbling uneasily.

"Sebastian, I don’t think that’s quite a good idea," I said, moving towards Aloysius. A few moments later, Aloysius had begun his impromptu skiing escapade.

"Aloysius!" he cried, abandoning the bucket of half-frozen ice cream and taking off after the runaway bear sans skis.

"Sebastian!" I yelled and ran down after him.

In a matter of moments, we inevitably collided and slid even further making progress with Aloysius. In a flurry of snow, fur, skis, and toy bear, we ended up enmeshed in a large bank of snow. Sebastian appeared to be knocked out cold, his hair brushed slightly over his closed eyes.

"Are you hurt?" I said, shaking him lightly, bringing his body close to mine. He opened one eye and shook his head no, but made no effort to move. I moved to put his limp arms around me, urging his arms to resemble arms and not the fine specimens of gaping carp we had seen at the local market. "Come on, let’s get you up. Give me your other ar-"

Before I could finish my imploration, I received a mouthful of snow. Sebastian whipped his arms away and sprang up laughing.

"Oh Charles, you should have seen your face," he giggled and then lost his balance, tumbling once more into the snow. Moving swiftly, he picked up the fallen Aloysius and another handful of snow and began to prepare his next attack.

"Sebastian, you complete and utter-" I began before I was hit with another volley of compact snow. "Alright, that’s it." I shook the snow off my body and with handful of the flakes in my hand, I began to form my own offensive against this new reign of icy terror.

"Aloysius, you take command!" said Sebastian, as he scampered off to go make more frozen missiles. I followed in hot pursuit.

We spent a quarter of an hour in a mock battle that might have been a worthy subject for Rembrandt or Rubens. Sebastian made his final stand on a bank, Aloysius in one hand and a frightfully large snowball in the other. As for me, I got to see my Sebastian fall, not pierced by arrows, but by a tirade of tiny pellets of snow. We collapsed on top of each other laughing like five-year-old children, our hair half-soaked and mussed with white.

Silence fell for a moment, and Sebastian turned towards me and brought our foreheads together in a clumsy facsimile of tenderness. 

"I am not a child of winter." For a moment, he was serious, and all the cheer and laughter vanished from his face and I was reminded that he had only been let out of the hospital a few, short weeks ago.

"No," I replied, for I could not think of anything else to say.

"Perhaps I have been mistaken," he murmured and brought our lips together in a slight cold brush; a child's imitation of a kiss.

He broke away softly, and then said sharply, “Aloysius, you naughty thing. You were peeking, weren’t you?” He extended his hand to mine and helped me up. “Shall we go then? That nice old man who took us to the top must be wondering why we haven't returned.”

I nodded at him. We retrieved our fallen, scattered trophies and began to make our way back uphill.


End file.
